what part of said

standing in the weeds of truth

in the marsh of honesty,

expecting birds to fly out of our mouths,

the migratory journey of understanding

needs the acumen of African trackers

and the nuance wisdom of the Ancients,

for what is birthed as words,

for it wears a complicated vocal text.

older than biblical 

and more in tune 

with the private intimacies 

of personal traumas

than shadows can enunciation their clues,

yet with timid smatterings 

and bashful insights,  

but requiring potentially 

the geologic column

of translation skills, 

as the worth of comprehension 

for humanity's predicament,

ever expressed by volumes and magnitudes,

but struggling with addressing

the formidable predicament 

of the human mind.

we all speak it.

but the code is essentially untranslatable.

what we all say,

only glimpses the seed essence 

of what is deeply needed.

and bystander-listening 

only clouds the possibilities

for answers to ever surface, serving us, 

as guiding lights 

worth our attention and bother.

all we ever say 

is only reflective of the human journey

and little towards revealing 

the desired result.

absence of the heart, 

in all these matters,

is a deducible clarity-premise to work from.

for a collective heart-mind would not choose

this method of language to connect. 

not even thought of itself 

would seem to justify.

but the feel of the cohesive in the collective

would bring us to a resounding clarity 

and sooth towards 

the passion presence of soul.

then whatever is said,

is all about the inner revelations of tonality

and make ever so much minor sense, 

out of the delivery of the albatross, 

in the windswept of overhearing,

honesty as meaningful text . . .